


A very Merry Christmas

by ThisSimp1eFee1ing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: CURRENTLY REWRITTING THIS FIC AS I AM NOT HAPPY WITH IT, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisSimp1eFee1ing/pseuds/ThisSimp1eFee1ing
Summary: Wherein after Tarsus IV, Jim is diagnosed with leukemia. Tired, scared and distressed he refuses treatment and it's up to his guardian angel, who takes the form of someone from his future to convince Jim of how much he has to live for.





	A very Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoodKindOfMadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodKindOfMadness/gifts).



> First of all have a very merry Christmas! (for those who celebrate it) This will be beta-ed as soon as possible so don't worry. I just wanted to post this before midnight. And now I got to run to church. Bye. :)  
> NEEDS BETA

Everyone on the hospital was looking forward to Christmas, except for the reckless newcomer named James Tiberius Kirk.  
As the big date approached, the very jolly nurses hung the stockings and the light strings and made sure the hospital corridors looked merry for the season, then gathering the patients there. Our Jim, for instance, laid in his bed alone, wallowing in self-pity.  
The lights were off, yet he was wide awake, the room was silent other than for the steady rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor. Jim of the very tender age of thirteen, bored, revolted but mostly scared the hell out of his head, gazed at the stars through his room’s window.  
That night the stars shun abnormally bright, more than he could have ever remembered, specially this beaming speck of purple on the very centre of his vision.  
The boy, owner of glittering blue eyes and long blonde hair in disarray, shrugs the covers over his body off and on bare feet walks to the window, taking care to turn off the heart monitor before freeing himself from the cords and tubes.  
His forehead butts against the cold window pane, his warm breath fogging it.  
The purple light still sits in its place and the young boy is so caught up on his sightings that it startles him when he is brought up to attention.  
“Jimmy, it is the third time that I have to tell you not to leave bed.” The old woman says, her arm resting on his shoulder.  
“It’s not Jimmy! It’s Jim, I’m a grown up!” The boy yells his rage plain on his voice.  
“I know Jim, you’re a big boy, but at least put some socks on, the floor must be freezing!” The woman, named Claire, advised as she reached for the clothes drawer and handed him a pair of warm, black woollen socks.  
The young boy however remains impavid and serein, the starry night his focus.  
By his door argue Claire and two more nurses, yet he doesn’t pay attention to them:

“Poor boy he’s got no one in the world. Claire, he likes you the most, do something!”  
“Don’t you think I haven’t tried to convince him? I hate to say this but he refuses the treatment and we can’t force him.”  
“What about his mother? She’s still alive; the boy has no say in it, it’s his mother’s word that counts.”  
“His mother’s not reachable, she’s in a deep space mission, and she doesn’t even know the boy just barely escaped the TARSUS IV tragedy.”

Numb to the words around him, Jim walks back to the bed, curling up in a tiny ball, his eyes still glued to the stars, specially to the very luminous and uncommon purple star, even though blurred out by the tears there gathering, an “I wish that this was all over.” stands out between the bitter treads of thought.  
The purple flying object, once so bright and so anchored to its central place, flickers closer and closer until its light is flooding the room alone. However the young boy seems to take no interest on the mysterious light, Jim just turns his back to the window and closes his eyes, drifting off to a sleep induced by the emotional outpouring of the day.

◌

Once he wakes up he finds that he is lacking his sense of time, once he looks outside it is not dark, but it isn’t morning light either, where the sky, the park and the buildings were supposed to be, stood an adamant blanket of white.  
Scared, Jim does what any youngling would, closes his eyes, pulls the blankets over himself and wishes not to be alone, he stays under for a long while, trying to calm himself and to think of the reasonable way out. Moments later his adrenalin spikes once at the very edge of his room he senses movement.  
“Jim.” It calls, as it places its hand on his blanket covered leg and assumes the place on the end of the bed.  
“Who are you? What do you want?” The little boy yells out with a far more scared tone than he wished.  
“I am your Guardian Angel and in a sense your consciousness too.” Having heard that James dares to take a peek at the room, finding it empty, he lets out a relieved sigh. “I wish to make you reconsider.”  
“Where are you? Are you in my head?” He asks, letting his guard down ever so slight because if the world were ending, with everything as a blankness outside, at least he wouldn’t have to be alone. “Am I dead?”  
Jim waits anxiously for an answer, his fingers holding the edges of his blue comforter. “You’re not dead Jim, just unconscious.”  
The voice source seems to be at the end of his bed, which does add up to the fact that there was something touching his leg, or someone better said. “Where are you? I can feel you and I can hear you, but I can’t see you.”  
“I am invisible to you, however I can adopt a form of someone who you can derive comfort from.” The voice suggests, standing up from the bed only for a man to surge in its place.  
He was tall and definitely an adult, his hair dark and neatly combed, – unlike Jim’s which was just a mess – cut on a 1960’s styled bowl hair cut. The man’s ears were pointy and he wore a blue shirt, along with uniform pants. Jim despite not knowing who this stranger was, he knew where he came from without much doubt since his family was deeply tied to Starfleet.  
“Really? The form you chose for me to derive comfort from is a Vulcan?”  
“It wasn’t I who chose it; it is someone from your existence.” The Vulcan informs is tone like if he was debiting school knowledge.  
“I don’t know you.”  
The Angel seems amused by Jim’s lack of forethought “Existence does not only mean present or past.”  
“I don’t have a future.” Jim contra-poses looking down in a mist of shame and sadness.  
“Leukaemia has a cure nowadays.” The Angel argues, a new reinvigorated sense of determination present on the room  
“I don’t want it.”  
“Then I came here to change your mind.”  
“I don’t have a future.” The boy insists  
“You do, or else how would I have been able to take this form?” As the consciousness speaks, he gestures to his face.  
“You’re tricking me.”  
“I’m not. You can see it for yourself?” Once the Vulcan look-alike suggests, he notices the boy’s lack of interest apparent lack of distress even if his crystal blue eyes glowed with curiosity. “Or you can stay here and wallow in pain and in self-pity.”  
As he notices Jim’s compliance, the spirit offers his hand. “What are you doing? I can’t touch your hand! You’re a Vulcan, dude!”  
“You think too much.”  
Once their fingers touch, the room slowly melts away and moments later so does reality.

◌

“Dude, where are we?” Jim calls, as soon as he comes by fully.  
“You said you had no future.” His tone is almost as if he is full on proud and waiting to be thanked.  
“When are we then?” The young boy wanders off, crossing numerous corridors on his way.  
“About fifteen years onwards into your future, you have finished your education with remarkable ease and when confronted with what was it that you wished to follow, you chose Starfleet out of a dare, initially, but later on you grew to believe on their mission.”  
Jim scoffs “That does sound like something I would do.” His consciousness following as the young boy explores the white corridors “So I’m an engineer right, like mom? Can I see myself?”  
“You are not an engineer; you are the Captain of Starfleet’s flagship the Enterprise.” He explains as Jim saunters off into the bridge, marvelled by the lights, the people working in harmony and by the stars streaking by on the view screen.  
“Is that me?” Jim asks, pointing to the blonde man sitting on the central chair.  
“Exactly.”  
“And that is you!” He says pointing to the man in charge of the scientific instruments who looked exactly like the guardian Angel. Surely it was him that the Angel had taken his form from.  
“Indeed.”  
They sit in silence, watching the bridge crew working. “It’s great to see that I live up to something great.”  
“Not only that James, as a Captain you will save the lives of countless people.”

The scene around them dematerialises once again, this time they’re in the Mess Hall, the older Jim, quite a handsome one if he has to admit, is surrounded by what must be his friends.  
Some of their faces Jim has seen before on the bridge crew but Jim has no idea who they are, but he already likes them and he can see that older him does too.  
They lean on against the wall and simply watch for some moments, until the Angel speaks up: “I know that the treatment is painful and you don’t really hold yourself in such an account to allow yourself to survive after Tarsus when so many of your friends didn't, but I need to ask you to reconsider it, if not for yourself, then for your friends and for the many you’ll save.”  
His words seem friendly, friendly enough to convince him to turn to him for comfort. He turns around only to embrace his consciousness in a hug.

At the mention of Tarsus he is reminded of the rot he lived in, that no one deserved to. In every sense, either physical, emotional and spiritual. James does not remember much other than the constant hunger, running and filth. The dead corpses lying on the street, with no one who cared enough to burry them, poisoned many of the Colony’s habitants, degenerating their cells and causing those who survived to appear with otherwise already eradicated diseases. Jim was one of the cases.  
“I have one final thing to show you.” The consciousness speaks after awhile.  
“Shoot it.” He says, stepping back and with his sleeve wiping his slightly snotty nose.  
“The Vulcan that I borrowed his form from.” Jim starts and once again they travel. “He seems to be your husband.”  
They watch from afar as Spock and Jim share a kiss under the observatory room’s glass-blanket of stars.  
“Eww! They’re practically getting it on here!” The young Jim yells out, turning his back to scene.  
“This is Spock, your husband. The two of you share one of the rarest and strongest bonds among their culture: a T’hy’la’s bond.”  
“Aww that’s sweet."  
"When I looked for someone who you’d derive the most comfort from, I was shown the picture of him because for a lack of a better translation he is your soul mate."  
They watch the scene for awhile once again. “You can take me back now.”  
“I will." The Angel states, his back then tensing up "The purple star, it is said to grant wishes when it’s found in someone’s life changing point. I stopped you from wishing to die, I want you to wish to live. And to accept getting treated.”  
“I will.” He says, taking the Angel’s hand.  
“I guess this is goodbye then.” He says  
“Don’t be sentimental!”  
“I’m trying not to I’m the conscious after all!”  
For one last time the scenery around them melted and then reappeared once again.

◌

He is back on the bed once he remembers, feeling like he just had the most extenuating day of his life, quite likely.  
On the window the purple speck of light awaits him. “I want to live.”  
Yet nothing happened, he stands up and walks to the window, his feet bare on the rough carpet. His fingers playing with the hem of his hospital gown, unsure if he had been heard. "Did you hear me? I want to live."  
He awaited yet nothing happened.  
"This is important you know? If I could at least get a sign."  
With a sigh he roled back into his bed, feeling ridiculed for finding himself talking to the stars.  
As the sleep gently lulled him into its dark nothingness, Jim comes to the realisation that he should not depend on dumb luck and shooting stars, he made his own damn luck.  
Making plans on how he would talk to Claire and accept the treatment the hospital had offered for the Tarsus victims.  
His back was to the wall and his eyes shut when it happened. The room flooded with purple light, yet Jim missed it.  
The purple star did work it's magic after all.


End file.
